The Last Day
by RoxanHolmes
Summary: While Sherlock is having nightmares, John open the door to woman, who's asking for Sherlock. Why is she coming at this late hour and why does Sherlock know her name? This is the queerest and darkest story John ever heard of. GB version of Последния Ден
1. The face from the nightmares

Although the nightmares, which chased him through the last few days, Sherlock thought it was time to go to bed. He walked into his silent room and sat on the bed. No, he couldn't sleep – it was so bright! The full-moon was peeking through the window and made his face paler and his hair darker. Sherlock rose and pulled the curtains shut, yet, before going back to bed; he chose his favorite playlist and played it on his laptop.

Sat on the bed, he closed his eyes, but didn't fall asleep. In front of his closed lids a long-forgotten face was smiling at him. Cunning dark-blue eyes were staring at him and were gently calling him on. He had forgotten these eyes – the cleverest he ever saw. One mystery he hadn't solved, even with the help provided by Scotland Yard and Mycroft.

These eyes wanted attention; they captured him in invisible trap. The face was pale, typical Scandinavian – thin pale skin, strange big eyes, delicate tip-tilted nose and pretty pale-pink lips. Thick and soft hair fell wavy, in big contrast with the pale face.

But the most superb thing in her wasn't the good looks, but her strong and swift mind, the matchless logic, which competed and even surpassed all of the detective's means. Actually, at least in from of himself, he admitted that her looks made impression on him, arose strong carnal desires in him. But, if it wasn't the swift mind, she would be just a face in his carnal dreams. Yet, alone for the person, that she was – the perspicacity; the hate arisen by her fear of people; the inhuman sincerity; the obeying of her own strict morals, enliven by martial arts; her typical day-dreaming states and by-no-means-conscious falling in meditation state; for all this and not only, he wanted the person hidden in the body. He caved the physical joint for reason, which wasn't known to him in words, but only in feeling. The feeling of desire to peck at her being.

In Sherlock's mind, this feeling wasn't called "love" – he just found this word filthy, a word, which wasn't to be used to describe his feelings for Ann. But, for the normal people, his Feelings were called this way. On the other hand, his love wasn't the one in the movies and books – he didn't want to sacrifice his all because of her desires. Only naturally, he was ready to give his life for her wellness, but that was a sacrifice that she would give for him too.

For Sherlock this whole story, these years, that he spent with her, on her side, were just one beautiful dream. Dream turned into his biggest nightmare, which chased after him even now – 6 years after her disappearance.

Anna was a woman, who would never hide something from Sherlock. She knew that by all means they were equal, and as a lover, she never saw benefit in lying. To the last moment everything was fine, there were no people, who wanted or could cause them any harm. Then came the day, when Anna didn't return home. Or even if she returned, was gone before he came home. When Sherlock walked home, angered by his brother's grumbling, he easily noticed the absence of the only living creature, capable of taming his anger. He called her, but there was no answer; he called his brother, but the second haven't seen her. He called Lestrade, but the police had no answer where she was.

Time went by and Ann was reported dead. Sherlock didn't want to bury the memory and kept the engagement ring, which he planned on giving her the night she disappeared. This ring was at the safest place for him – on necklace around his neck.

Lost in thoughts, Sherlock didn't notice the knock on the door; neither noticed John, whose head peeked behind the now open door. When the second finally spoke, Holmes returned to reality.

"Sherlock, there's a woman asking for you," John's voice was sleepy and worried.

The detectiveunconcernedly rose and followed Watson to the living room. There, standing beside the fireplace, stood a woman. A woman followed him into his dream for the last 6 years.

"Ann," whispered Sherlock.

Holmes drew near the woman and pulled her into hug, unable to believe. Tears rolled down both their cheeks.

John started to leave them alone, but two voices stopped him.

"John," said the woman, "I would like you to hear my story, because it is strongly bound by a case, you have been working with Sherlock for more than a year."

* * *

This is the English version of my story Последния Ден - The last day. I chose to translate it and post it as new story, because not all people here read Bulgarian.

If someone wants to take a look at the original story is welcome to do it here - () /s/7985661/1/The_Last_Day


	2. Ann and the ravisher

"_John," said the woman, "I would like you to hear my story, because it is strongly bound with a case, you have been working with Sherlock for more than a year."_

"Don't tell me he's involved," said Sherlock, trying to show his anger, yet breath of fear could he sensed in all his words and his pose.

Ann nodded and pushed Sherlock on one of the arm-chairs and gestured to John to sit on the other one.

"My story begins before 6 years, when, for my fiancé's and mine confusion, I was kidnapped. For the protocol, we're not actually engaged; he was planning on proposing me the night I disappeared. And so. I was taken into a small room. There were bed, writing-desk, drawing equipment, and everything else, that could possibly make my stay there less painful. If I wanted food, all I had to do was knock on the door and say want I want and it was delivered to me as soon as possible. After about month, I'm not sure, because when I was kidnapped I had just found out, I was pregnant about 2-3 months; my ravisher dared to show his face.

"He introduced himself as Jim. James Moriarty. He was young, genius, yet very naïve, when it came to people's relationships. The only big difference between him and my fiancé was the absence of heart in the criminal. Jim could be very nice boy, so I easily made him like me, later he actually fell in love with me. This gave birth to his desire to murder my loved-one.

"Around the 6th month of my pregnancy, or so 4 months after being kidnapped, I miscarried. Jim was happy – the last and most symbolic bond between me and my fiancé seemed lost. But I could see how something inside his turned. He became maniacal about my health and barely took in the fact, that it was only stress.

"After the miscarriage, he didn't dare to make passes at me. Somehow he felt guilty."

Anna's face was so sad that John thought that one question, to take her mind off the lost child, would be in her favour.

"Sorry for intruding," said he, "but you say "made passes". You mean Moriarty showed sexual desires towards you?"

The faces of them all darkened at the thought, but on the other hand, each one of them felt laugher creeping up inside. For one reason or another, for all three of them, this man seemed so gay, that the idea of Moriarty wanting a woman this way, even a woman with those looks, made them mad with laugher.

"Yes," finally Ann stopped the quiet laughing, "He wanted me, but respected my not-wanting-to-touch-him."

"There is no much more for saying," continued the woman, "6 years I had to listen to his stupid, yet brilliant ideas. When he understood, that Sherlock could become his match, Jim as though forgot about his mania for me. It wasn't hard to escape, nor to find this address. The only thing worthy to be said is that I found way to kill him. But this is for tomorrow, when we're all bright and in high spirits."

Sherlock told the guest about the more interesting cases that he solved through the last few years and all about the last years, when one normal living creature had, just like her, endured living with his genius majesty. John made tea and served it with a plate biscuits. He sat and looked at the woman, who perfectly understood the cases that Sherlock told her about, and something made him think, that she was a genius too.

"By the way, the name is Ann, Anna Higins," the guest introduced herself and bravely held her hand to the doctor. "I'm happy this idiot found a as good as you. You can't imagine how I worried, that if he's left alone long enough, he'd eat himself like a rooting plant."

John laughed, fully agreeing to her, and took her stringy white hand in his own. Feeling who small it was against his, he realized how small Ann actually was, moreover beside the unbelievable tall detective.

"Oh, Ann, I was going to forget," cried Sherlock and John saw in his friend's eyes the enthusiasm he saw there only when Holmes sensed good case.

But something was making the doctor think that, this enthusiasm had nothing to do with criminal and unsolved puzzles, but with the woman that had just now gently rubbed Sherlock's shoulder, trying to calm him. Then the detective slipped on the floor and took a necklace, unknown to John, off his neck. On this necklace there was a ring, beautiful, yet plain ring, which by all means was engagement ring.

"Ann," murmured Sherlock, "would you be as nice to finally become my official fiancé? I want you to wear this ring and to never get it off, and in case anyone tries again to steal you from me, to have in black on white, that you're mine."

With surprisingly deep womanly laugher, Ann reached her left hand to Sherlock and happily watched as Holmes put the ring on her finger.

"It's ok, Sherlock, I don't give myself to others – they're all too stupid and dull," retorted the woman, smirking. "Nothing personal, John, but I just need some intellectual adventure on my side, beside Mr. my-best-friend, who turned out to be best at spying on his own brother and kidnapping his brother's best friend, trying to get some information." Ann shocked her head, but the smile never left her face.

The three of them talked for an hour or so, and, when the clock showed half past two, they decided it was time for sleep. While going up the stairs, John heard Anna's laugher and voice.

"But, seriously, Sherlock! How's my loyal mate Mycroft?"

Watson shocked his head and wondered what was waiting for them.

* * *

If anyone has any notes about grammar and so, is welcome to correct me. English isn't my mother language and my English is a bit of mess of British and American, and the other thing affecting is that I'm writing this in Bulgarian and then translating in English :D

And, you're welcome to see my drawing for this story - Sherlock and Ann at age of 27, a few weeks before the kidnapping - stormrave (DOT) deviantart (DOT) com/art/What-We-Were-296397568

Reviews are loved ^^


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